You can choose to be any superhero or super villain in the Marvel Universe, as long as they:

Are NOT deities, gods, or people such as Death. People like Thanos and Silver Surfer and Captain Marvel and Galactus are okay, though...

Are true to the personality and abilities of the character, such as no Cyclops moving planets with his optic blasts, Dazzler defeating Galactus, or Aunt May as Galatus's new Herald...

This is a working environment, so you can travel to different places using your powers or vehicles. Don't miraculously pop up unless you're a teleporter or such...

You can reside in any place in the Marvel Universe. You can also travel off-planet, to such places as the Skrull homeworld...

Don't do anything RANDOM like chopping off board user's heads or what not, unless your a villain chopping off inanimate victims heads, then whatever, go with it, as long as it's not technically RANDOM...

Don't be killing people without reason. You know your weaknesses and strengths, what you can do or can't. Dazzler will lose against Thanos one on one, but may be able to use her allies to help her out or she can run away...

If you want to take part in this, just PM BNKRPG or any of the mods or list your name and character here and I'll put your name and character on the first post here. First come, first serve...

New RP'ers must start playing on Earth unless said so by any of the mods.

You can form supervillain gangs, superhero teams, alliances, the works...

You should have a hideout of some sort, at least in the beginning when your not traveling...

If you get killed, re-spawn somewhere else like in a hospital or morgue or whatever. Keep playing...

There can be a number of stories going on at once, using different people...

Act like your characters, ASSUME their traits and personalities...

There are endless places to go and endless things to do: ENDLESS possibilities so get creative...

There are limits to time travel, do NOT time travel unless you have talked to one of the Gamemasters…

There should be MINIMAL cussing and swearing in posts.
There will be NO By-passing the censors. This is a Hype rule, and NO exceptions will be made for the RPG.

No obscene topics!

People who disobey these rules, some more major than the others, will get BOOTED

If a player decides to kill off their character, new players must have permission from the previous player (if he is still in the RPG) to resurrect that character

Bullseye loved baseball. He always had. When he was a kid, he had dreamed about being a world-famous baseball player, and he could have done it too. He was better than any of the so-called pros. He had a natural, God-given talent, a perfect aim. But as he got older, baseball began to get dull, and he discovered other, far more entertaining uses for his gift.

And he did manage to get famous anyway. His face had been in the paper a few times over the years. As a matter of fact, his face had been in the Daily Bugle recently, accompanied by a cheerful little article claiming that he had escaped custody, and that no civilian should attempt to approach him.

Of course, now he was in close proximity of thousands of people, and they were completely oblivious.. He didn't have his costume on, and the bullseye he had carved into his forehead was hidden by an NY cap, so to all the Yankee fans, he was just your average baseball-loving spectator. And to him, they were cattle, just waiting for the nail-gun to burst through the side of their heads and end their meaningless little lives.

It wasn't that Bullseye had no value for human life. Oh no, far from it. He knew that every extra day he managed to survive was a miracle. After all, he had lived for quite some time with a brain tumor, a ticking time bomb in his skull. He could very well have lived to be 100, but on the other hand, he could have dropped dead with a fatal seizure at any second. The tumor was out now, but that experience taught him to live for the moment, live life to the full, and do what makes you happy. It just so happened that murder made him happy.

Bullseye absently twirled one of two baseballs he'd bought in the gift shop. He loved the texture of the ball, the sensation of the stitching caressing his fingers. It brought back waves of nostalgia. The first weapon he'd ever used to kill someone was a baseball. Baseballs would always have a special place in his heart. And now that he was here, at Yankee Stadium, he was going to have a little fun, Bullseye style.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted in a huge cheer. Andy Lime, the Yankee's new star player, had just hit a home run. The crowd rose to their feet, and Bullseye stood up with them. His eyes scanned the rows in front for a target. His twitching eyes settled on two people about three rows down. A father high-fiving his son, a kid that was maybe about 7 or 8. They'd do just fine. The crowd was still jumping up and down in celebration, and nobody noticed Bullseye swinging the baseball out of his hand. And no one heard the sickening crunch as the ball connected with bone.

"Bullseye.”

The boy looked up at his father with an expression of childish joy, but the smile faded when he noticed that his father was staring vacantly ahead. Suddenly, his dad collapsed forward, dead, a dent in the back of his skull. Bullseye laughed as a little Mexican wave of horror began to spread, the crowd gradually beginning to notiice what had happened. He briefly considered taking the boy out as well, but one person was enough of a distraction. He could care less about the kid's welfare – in Bullseye’s experience, fathers sucked anyways - but he didn't want to waste his second baseball. He had a different target in mind.

While everyone was distracted with the dead father, Bullseye tossed the second baseball as hard as he could. It went right over the heads of the crowds, and right into the park. Andy Lime was being carried on his teammates shoulders. They kept on carrying him a few seconds after the baseball had connected with his windpipe, oblivious of the fact that he had been killed. By the time they did notice, Bullseye was long gone.

Outside the stadium, Bullseye closed his eyes and looked up to the sky, a sneering smile crawling across his lips as he heard the rising chorus of screams coming from the stadium. Lime had been his target, the one his employer had paid him a healthy sum of money to eliminate. But he had managed to mix business with pleasure, and Bullseye felt that any satisfying career had to allow you to do that from time to time.

And Bullseye did get great job satisfaction. If you were as good as he was, being an assassin was a highly lucrative occupation. And Bullseye put the money to good use. Just recently he'd splashed out on some reconstructive dental surgery, for example. His teeth had always been terrible, and that was before that scumbag Daredevil (and he was gonna get his some day) had made a regular habit of knocking them out. But now he had a million dollar smile to rival Tom Cruise. So maybe when he killed a mark, they could take some measure of comfort in the fact that their death was contributing to their killer's welfare.

And speaking of money, it was about time to see about getting the rest of his payment. Bullseye took out his mobile and called the number of today’s client. It didn’t matter who had paid him to kill Lime. Some sleazy gangster, who gives a rat’s ass? The tedious logistics of it all was little more than background noise. Killing people in new and imaginative ways nobody else could… that’s what made him get out of bed in the morning.

You know, I never know how to write a perfect introduction to myself for one of these thingies. I mean what can you say about me, Wade Wilson, Deadpool? "Hello girls, I'm Wade and in my spare time I like to take long walks in the park and play scrabble by the fire side like drinking a glass of "Le Jambon La Daria"." Sounds like any girls man... except that's not who I am at all. No no, I spend my spare time watching TV, trying to photoshop Bea Arthur's head onto the body of Emma Watson (she's 18 now, its legal!), eating out of date Marmite, and looking through my sniper rifle scope at the girl across the street.

What I do for work? Well dear reader just you take a look and see!

Now the guy below right now as I peer down from my strapped in position in the ceiling is called Dennis McQueen. He fancies himself as one of those "Let me teach you some respect!" mob guys. The kind you might see if George Lucas penned The Godfather Part 4. He's hanging out in the back of a laundrette, overlooking the drug money being shoveled into bags or placed in people's pockets.

I've got a job to do here. And I'm the best at what I do. But what I do... tonight anyway, isn't exactly what you think it is.

McQueen speaks up "Hurry up and get this stuff out of here. I wanna be home to bang my wife... and then someone else while she cooks dinner." See what I mean about the George Lucas? Where does this guy get his dialoge? The Book of Stereotypes? Anyway Wadey m'boy, it's time to get into play. Time to launch... THE ULTIMATE SALES PITCH!

*Click!*

WHACK.

"Ow..." That ladies and gentlemen, was the sound of my strap breaking, and my lumbering self hitting the floor with a dull thud. In a matter of seconds, every gun in the room is trained on me. Smooth Wade, this is going greeeeeat.

"Who's this joker?" McQueen demanded, starring down the sights of his Beretta.

"Joker? I'm offened sir!" I get to me feet, brushing myself off as if I actually intended to fall onto my face in a room full of armed drug lords. "No my good man, I am not any kind of Joker, do you see any green hair or make up? Or a hit motion picture?"

"Wha--"

"Nay my ol' fellow, I am the one you have all heard about, the one you all fear, I am Deadpool, soon to be Master of the Universe!"

"...Who?"

"...you guys really haven't heard of me?"

"You look like Spider-man. Are you Spider-man?"

"He's Spider-man, get him!"

"Hold it! Hold it! I am not Spider-man damnit! Note the smaller eye pieces, lack of blue and no frickin' Spider-symbol. Mistake me for that do good-er again, and you've lost yourself a sale."

"Sale?"

"Yeah... well if I'm honest, the mercenary business has been kinda quiet recently, so I went to the job center and this lovely man from a big company gave me a job and--"

"So you're a salesman?"

"Well we prefer the term "Goods Provider", but I am a man that sells things, so in essence, yes."

"Forget this, blow him away boys, lets go."

"Ah! But! Here's the point of it all. You could blow me away--"

Bang!

"Ow! I said could, could! But, if you blast my head into a million pieces right now you will have to go through the inconvienance of washing my blood off of your shirts my friends! But, if you were to use the new and improved "Gaz" to clean these fine shirts that you wear, you'd be benefited with a stain free easy wash!" McQueen raises an eyebrow. Ah ha! Wade you devil, you've got em right where you want em.

"But Deadpool, you say, I already buy and am please with the leading brand of... clothes... cleaning stuff, do I really have need for a new product? Well fear not gentlemen, as I prepose a test! I simply need two blood stained shirts!"

"...so have you got any bloody stained shirts?" One henchman asks, clearly more interested than a man of his size and profession should be.

"Well... no I actually for once do not have anything remotely blood stained on me. But! I can provide them!"

"How?"

"Well, the shock of my stylish and timely arrival may have left you wondering how I knew you were all here. The answer is simple... Steve Jones over there ratted."

"What!? I never!" A shocked and nervous Steve squeaked, convieniantly positioned next to the door.

"Sure you did Steve. Don't you remember? I was in the bar and you came over to me, I lied and said I wanted to kill your boss here and thinking you could be the new man in charge you told me where I could find him tonight. Honestly, you need to sort that memory out my friend."

"Guys, I dunno what he's talking about, seriously!" Steve backs up against a wall as men start to surround him.

"Sure you do! I even got a Polaroid to remeber the occasion by!" I show Dennis a picture of me with my arm round Steve who's trying to get away from my grip. "Turn it over." Dennis flips it round to see a message on the back reading "To Deadpool, all the best luck in killing all my friends and superiors, Steve Jones. P.S. You're awesome" Well okay so I may have fabricated some of that, but they'll never know.

"No! This ain't true! Its a trick! A tr--" Steve's sentence is cut short by a bullet from Dennis' gun ripping through his head.

"Great! now I only need one more!" I pull out my own gun and shoot the guy next to Dennis, who looks back with an expression that's part shock, part confusion and part anger. "He uh... was sleeping with your wife." Dennis actually buys it. Lucas you beauty, whoever said 1 dimensional characters were a bad thing? "Now friends, this is a laundrette, am I not mistaken? So, let us begin the test!"

The shirts are put into different machines and begin to wash. "Oh that reminds me while I'm here actually." I turn round and open another machine, grabbing a basket and pulling out some clothing.

"Is that stuff yours?"

"Dude, I'm a 30 something year old ninja man that's currently getting by trying to get mobsters to buy washing powder, do you think I can afford clothing? I actually walked around in this get up in the super market the other day, the kids all thought I was there to see them and brought me down like the Berlin Wall thinking I was gonna give em' presents. Life has been pretty bad for me lately guys, I really need--"

Ding!

"Oh, done!" Luckily cutting my depressing story off before I realise what I'm saying. "So you see-- ah." Everyone gazes in confusement as I pull the Gaz shirt out, still covered in blood. "Hmm... maybe I didn't put enough quaters in. What was the guy I shot's bloody type?"

"Do you think anyone here really knows that?"

"Well it does read clearly on the back of the packaging that the powder will not work with bloods types A through to Z so that might be the reason for this..." ... I don't think they're gonna buy that one.

"Listen... Deadplank or whatever your name was."

"Deadpool! If you can't remember it, assign it to letters! D is for deadly, E is for excellent, A is for... oh wait I forgot--"

"Shut it. Now, we let you play your games for a while, but me and my boys, we remain unstatisfied. And there's a punishment to go with that unsatisfaction."

"You're gonna make me eat chocolate ice cream till I puke?"

"No... you're gonna die." McQueen pulls his gun on me.

"Yeah well see the thing about that is... you know where one of your goons shot me earlier? Take a look." the bullet hole in my leg has completely healed up. "No its okay to be amazed! Not a fake, take a closer look!" As McQueen leans in, I launch my foot into his face, lurch forward to grab his neck, then twist him round as a human shield. "Look guys, I tried to do this the nice way really, but if you not convinced by the awesome power of Gaz, then I guess I'll be needing that big pile of drug money you got in the back."

***

I walk out of the laundrette carrying a few sacks of money. No dollar signs on the sacks though. Makes me miss the 60s, now there were robbers you could trust. Well that went pretty well I think... got some new clothes, a pile of cash... killed a few dozen idiots. I mean I did get my costume covered in blood... but then I've got the leading brand of washing powder to take care of that for me.

It had been a....interesting few months for Erik Lensherr. After the incident with the Scarlet Witch, approximately 98% of the mutant population had completely lost their powers. They were hollow shells of their former selves. Faint echoes of their once superiority over the Homo Sapiens. And Magneto had been one of them.

Being without his abilities had been more torture than he had ever had to endure in his life. Suffering a near-fatal beating at the hands of his own son, who was trying to manufacture powers with the Inhuman's Terrigen Mist, Magneto had all but given up.

That is, until the Collective, a being comprised of all the mutant powers stolen away by a single phrase, entered his life. The Collective, like an angel from above and outside Lensherr's understanding, returned to Magneto what was rightfully his. With the slight hinge that Magneto had gone insane, attacking the New Avengers. After he had been subdued by the Earth's Mightiest Heroes, Magneto had been brought on board a SHIELD helicopter, destined for imprisonment. That is, if Lensherr hadn't woken up and caused the helicopter to burst into flames.

Now he was missing, assumed dead.

But he was far from dead. Magneto was stronger than ever. And this time he had the element of surprise on his side.

You'd think it was the kind of place where yuppies danced the night away by the name. By looking at it you'd think it was a strip club or a biker bar. Fact is its somewhere in between, and it may not be quite the worst dive in town...but its on the list.

Its busy tonight, and everybody is messed up on something, just the way I like it. There's bunch of pretend toughs are at the bar, talking alot of crap, it makes me crack a grin to hear these chumps yap.

Course its not all fun. Some fat guy puked his guts in the john a few minutes ago. He walks past me now, thinking he smells like roses, but the stench of puke is hanging all over him and I can't help but scrunch my nose up a bit and curl my upper lip back, exposing my fangs slightly.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a stogie. Then I spark a match on the table in front of me and light it. The savory scent of tobacco smells good as it burns its way up my nostrils drowning out the smell and I let out a long exhale of thick smoke.

The pretend toughs at the bar notice me and take a long look, talkin 'bout how I must be somekind of redneck. They have no idea that I can hear them but their staring right at me.

I wink at the stupid pups. I just can't help myself.

Me, I'm the real deal. The original tough guy at the bar you don't want to mess with. These boys' worst nightmare.

I sit in a corner wearing an unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt with a white wife beater underneath. I also wear faded jeans and cowboy boots. The wide brimmed cowboy hat I wear to complete the look.

I've got a brewski sitting in front of me and a frail on my right. I look her up and down and she smiles a vacant smile and lets her hand drop on my crotch. She's messed up on something, something that's got her all docile like and smelling of poppy seeds. I take a swig of my brew, it goes down smooth for crappy beer. Course it won't make me drunk. I can't get drunk.

I turn my attention back to the 'toughs' as they approach me. Guess they didn't appreciate the wink.

The biggest and bravest of them, or is it stupidest?, gets too close. He grabs the frails wrist, leans in to tell me I don't deserve her company.

I jerk my head around faster than he can react and rip his throat out with my teeth, savoring the brief resistance his flesh offers as my fangs rend through it.

Believe it or not I don't like the taste of human flesh, must be cause of all the junk food. The blood is another story. Soon as that hot salty goodness touches my lips I know its gonna be one of those nights.

****

Its morning now and I'm in a seedy motel putting my shirt. Last night is still a bit of a blur but I remember the gist of it.

One person who won't be remembering anything is the frail. What's left of her is sitting in a bloody mess on the bed behind me. She wasn't all that bad, I hadn't planned on killing her, and yet here we are.

Here I am. Presiding over another bloody mess I really didn't want any part of.

"Sorry Shirley"I hear myself say to the bloody mess as I light a cigar. I don't know what her name was. Shirley works as good as any other name I guess.

For maybe the hundredth time in hundred day I think that this isn't how I wanna be. How I wanna spend my nights and days. I want bigger and better.

"That was the last time" I say to the mangled corpse in the bed "Last night was the last night."

I don't believe the words even as I speak them, and when I walk out of the motel room I'm already thinkin about breakfast.

*****

The Shock Bar
7:33 AM.

Local law enforcement is going through the grisly task of counting up and identifying the bodies.

One of these cops is a Sgt. Danny Jones. Jones is a dirty cop with a mean streak. He's also obese and wears a trench coat to hide his gut. He's seen quite a few of these jobs in the last few months and though he hates himself for it, he swears the scenes don't make him nausous anymore. He guesses this is proof that you can be desensitized to violence, in fact he's now sure of it.

That's why he wouldn't be sweating so profusely if this was just another blood bath. No. He's sweating because his employer, not the city, his other employer has a niece. A no good junkie of a niece from what Danny's heard, but a niece nonetheless, and she was here, at the Shock Bar last night when all hell broke loose.

Now she's missing.

Danny's hoping that they find her body here, at least that way she they know she died quickly. Either way a storm was coming, but if she's not here, if she didn't die clean, well, somebody was gonna wish they had never been born.

“I appreciate that, Mr. Cole,” Warren Worthington replied as he leaned back into the chair. He was, of course, impeccably dressed in the latest white Armani suit. In his youth, leaning back would’ve been a far from comfortable manoeuvre, his wings strapped against his body forcibly. Now, however, he held much greater control over his extra limbs and they could actually make any chair a halfway decent seating, no matter what ghastly meeting he was in.

In stark contrast, Kevin ‘Kasper’ Cole, sitting opposite to the heir of the massive Worthington future, was fidgeting around in his chair. As a Jewish African-American cop, he was used to little else but persecution from the white upper class. The really white, as in the case of Warren Worthington, were usually the worst.

“But face facts,” Warren continued, “if you want to continue your… ‘extra-curricular’ activities, you’re going to need help holding onto this place.”
“We do just fine,” Kasper responded grimly.“You have been under the threat of eviction for almost the last two years.”
“We’re not some charity case you can use to write some tax pay-offs.”“That’s not why I’m here.”
“It’s not? I know your type, Worthington. Do you think you’re the first millionaire to walk into Harlem?”“Billionaire, actually,” Warren deadpanned.
“We don’t want what you’re selling, Mr. Worthington,” Kasper said as he rose from his chair.

Just as Kasper Cole finished that sentence, a scream erupted from the kitchen. Gwen, girlfriend and mother of his child, came charging out. She relentlessly pushed her boyfriend back in his seat and took a stance in front of Warren. The wealthy mutant couldn’t hide a grin.

“I’ve had enough of your damn pride, Kasper. Last week they almost cut our electricity because you didn’t pay the bill on time! You need to think of your son!”
“Honey,” Kasper started, but Gwen’s scowl told him enough.
“Don’t ‘honey’ me. We’ll take what your offering, Mr. Worthington.”“I’m glad to hear that, Ms. Cole --”
“-- We’re not married.” Kasper and Gwen and both interrupted.“Ah, I’m sorry…”
“Gwen.”
Warren flashed his winning smile. “Gwen.”
“Look, Mr. Worthington,” Kasper said, having since calmed down. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I was never about taking money for work I didn’t do.”“Which is exactly why I’m offering Gwen a job --”
Both Kasper and Gwen’s mouths dropped to the floor. Warren got up.“-- if she wants it, she can start tomorrow,” he said as he handed the flustered Gwen his card.

“That’s the address. Just go to the front desk and give them that card. They’ll know what to do. We’ll arrange a babysitter for you as well.” He started walking to the door.
“Ah, thank you, Mr. Worthington.”“Tell me something, Gwen,” Warren said, ignoring her thanks as he turned around. “Would you like to go back to college?”
“Uh, sure.”“We’ll set that up too.”

Both Kasper and Gwen were too stupefied to reply until Warren reached the door.

“Ah, Mr. Worthington?” Kasper asked as he cleared his throat.“Yes, Mr. Cole?”
“Thank you.”
Warren turned his head towards them and simply smirked.

“See you at the office, Gwen. Best of luck, Mr. Cole. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

And with that he stepped out the door, leaving Kasper Cole and his family with a new future.

Lonnie Thompson Lincoln had never thought about much in life. Everything seemed to just... happen. From the bullied to the bullier, then from the small time crook, to the small time super-crook. He hadn't planned his life to be a tale of pain and misery, but that's what it had turned out to be. Like right now, as he tore through a school science block scanning various bottles and labels as he went.

Why his employer needed to hire a bit of muscle to grab a bottle of "Anti-somethings" out of a school lab, he didn't know, but he sure as hell couldn't be bothered to be be descreet about it. "Outta the way, come on move it people! You wanna die here? Then I suggest you find the closest exit." a tap of the glass and a cabinet shattered in front of him. Easy as that. "Now what did they want? No... no... no... ah I think this is the one." he pocketed a bottle of pills and turned to leave.

Who needed to plan when you had rock hard skin and super strength? Everything just seemed to fall into your pocket with qualities like those, like the $10,000 would hopefully upon delivery of these pills. Deciding to pass on the simple concept of a door, he kicked his way through the wall and marched through the corridor, rubble trickeling down his shoulders. "Now, where's the exit outta this place?"

I open my eyes, and despite all my hopes, the same sight's there. Amidst the smoke and ruin, brought on by two landmines set off by militant gunfire, I see the blood and bones of men I was sent here to lead. The part of me that's still living in 1944 can almost directly match up what I'm seeing now with the day I stepped onto the battlefield of Monte Cassino. It was one of my first trial runs as the Government's new super soldier. The enemies trying to cut us off from Italy had heard of me. Big men. Bigger guns. They thought they'd send me back as a heap of disgrace the minute I got a look at them.

Needless to say, we made it to Italy. And the eyes of death didn't scare me then. It definitely doesn't scare me now.

One of the Pakistani rogue troops signals for his men to press on with the attack. The mine fields were a distraction for the squadron, and if my copter had landed minutes earlier, I could have sprinted here fast enough to stop those poor souls from walking into a trap. Now, only one squadron out of three remain, and they're about to get hit with a round of bullets each. At least, so they think. All I can think is how many seconds it'll take for me to launch my shield into the enemies' skulls.

The gunfire begins. No time. Throwing up the shield, it ricochets a couple of bullets back at them, as I turn to the men behind me. The one that doesn't look like he's about to lose his mind kneels near me, gun at the ready. I motion for him to put it down, for now.

"How many have we got left?!"

"Just over eleven, now! We've got a couple wounded!"

"There a medical bay around here?!"

"Couple miles from base! Why?!"

I throw the shield up, just as they're forced to reload. "Nevermind why! Just hold them off as long as you can!"

He complies, opening return fire, as a few of his cadets join him. I leap, roll, and avoid just enough gunfire to make it behind another tree. I can see the wounded just beyond the field, piled along the crash site of their jeeps. They're losing blood. Won't last long if I can't get them out of here. Holding up my shield for cover, I race along the pathway to them, jumping over a couple of stray bullets from the fight behind me.

Frankly, I'm disappointed. Forty years of growth and research, and it still takes little more than a bomb the size of a baseball to level two of three military squadrons. Scum in this world can steal all the new technology they want for world domination, but they haven't changed. They're just as power hungry as ever. And at the cost of human life...

As I hoist the first cadet over my shoulder, I'm reminded of why I decided not to retire. Almost every one I knew had me convinced that it was the best course of action for a man who's seen as many battles as I have. And with The Avengers disbanded, I hardly had an argument for my doubts. Part of the reason, if not the whole reason I was brought back after '44, was to show the heroes of a new generation how to protect freedom from the perils of today. Heroes that had traded in hard helmets and bullet clips for masks and capes. I had my work cut out for me, sure, but as the years went by, friends were made, enemies were brought down, and we became what many would call legendary.

So what kind of role did an old war hound like me have in a world without them?

As I bring the third soldier to the awaiting copter, another landmine goes off. I'm thrown back into the trenches, dirt and mud replacing the fresh blood that stains my uniform. I don't pay it any attention, as I push myself up, slug my shield onto my back, and charge out, rushing through the flames that are still burning with fury. There are two more men I plan on getting to safety, and by God, I'm gonna get them there.

What kind of a role does a man like Captain America have? The same one I always had. 1944. 1994. 2004. It doesn't make a bit of difference. I was always made to do one thing. Honor my country.

The darkness was over. He could see the light now. He was awake. He was alive.

"So...what are you?" the boy before him asked.

"I am a holographic representation of the Vision," he announced.

"Weren't you destroyed?" he said incredulously.

"Correct. She-Hulk ripped me in half in a rage," the hologram explained emotionlessly.

"So how come you're not...well...dead?" he asked.

"My internal CPU was spared, as was my holographic projector," the Vision said.

"Well...now what?" the boy asked.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"I'm Nathaniel," Nathaniel announced. The hologram raised an eyebrow.

"Nathaniel Richards?" the Vision asked.

Nathaniel shrugged.

"I guess so,"

"Very well..." Vision said slowly "Where are the Avengers?"

"The Avengers? I don't know..." Nathaniel said, backing away from the hologram.

"Interesting," the hologram stated "Nathaniel, I shall need you to make me a new body,"

"What?" Nathaniel said incredulously.

"I shall instruct you based on your suit, my original schematics and some added improvements. We can use assorted scraps from the mansion. It shall be simple," the Vision explained. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

"If you say so," he muttered.

"And you shall need a new name. Nathaniel Richards is not a safe one to use here. I suggest you think on that while you rebuild me," Vision said.

"My name isn't safe?" Nathaniel said, smirking.

"I shall explain in due course, my young friend. However, we must now get to work,"

"Know that phrase, 'Spare the rod spoil the child' I'm not really in favor of it. This is a Junior High, by now the children should have good enough sense to know what's right and what is wrong. I'll allow a child two chances before I write him up and send him to the office. That's usually never a problem when I sub, I'm usually pretty laid back and my rules are easy to follow and hard to break."

"'Laid back'? Mr. Parker, I've been in the field of education for thirty years. Take my advice, son. If you give these children an inch, they will take a mile. You have to be firm with them."

I'm just about to give my rebuttal when I'm interupted.

BOOM!

Something shakes the whole office.

"What was that?" White says as he stands up and walks out into the hallway.

I'm behind him and he bumps into me when he runs back in.

"My god, there's a large man outside terrorizing through the school."

"What does he look like?"

"I don't know! He's large, has muscles and is a superhuman!"

"In this town, that narrows it down to about a thousand people."

I need a way to get out of here so I can switch to my work clothes.

"He-he was terrorizing into the science lab."

Bingo.

"I uh, I have to go! He could have broke precious test tubes!"

"You can't go out there, it's suicide!"

"Mr. White, this is for science!" I say as I run out his office and down the hallway into the boy's room.

****************

"Now, where's the exit outta this place?" Tombstone grunts as he gets ready to pound down on a locker with his concrete hands.

THWIP!

My webbing cakes his hands and stops him.

"Naughty naughty! Mr. Tombstone, I'm going to have to see your hall pass!

__________________

"These are the times that try men's souls... Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph."

-- Thomas Paine

"People never lie so much as after a hunt, during a war or before an election."
-- Otto von Bismarck

Nope, nothing was ever planned. Before the webbing had hit his hand, before the annoying quip, Tombstone knew who it was. The it was the thwip, the all too familiar thwip that gave it away. "I spose you get a little tired of people like me telling you how sick they are of seeing you." he grunted, shredding the webbing off of his hand with ease. "Me though, I could use a little excersise."

Tombstone gripped the locker he stood next to and ripped it from the wall. "Hall pass you say? Well here you go." and with that, he tossed the locker at Spider-man.

The night sky. There is darkness here but light also. Untold millions of heavenly bodies lay spread across the blackness. They shine in all the colors of the universe. Vibrant greens, shimmering purples, fiery reds.

Some of the lights shine brighter than others. One in particular, if mortal man were prone to comprehend such things, seems to pulse with life.

The star is yellow and bright and it seems to hang slightly higher in the heavens than its fellow celestial figures.

Emanating from within its depths is a sound. A sound that goes unnoticed and unheadd. Drowned out by the star's fiery burning core, and suffocated by the vacuum of space, but if it could be heard it would remind mortel men of a heart beat. Steady and rhythmic but old, and faint, and forgotten.

A heart beat that suddenly strengthens and intensifies and echoes across the cosmos with increasing urgency. The sounds rolls across the void like thunder.

Boom BOOOM

Boom BOOOM

Boom BOOOM

*gasp*

A man sucks in a long deep breath, savoring the feeling of the air filling his lungs.

He is sitting on a public bench in New York City and if he has just miraculously appeared there, the multitudes of people around him seem not to notice for they go about their business oblivious of him.

The man is wearing a back pack and carries a wooden walking stick in one hand. Rising smoothly, he tucks the stick under his arm and starts walking purposfully up the road.

He knows instincitvely that there is much to be done and there is little time to waste. In his eagerness he does not notice the woman with green eyes who watches him walk away before picking himself up and walking in the opposite direction.

“You sure you should be doing this, War?” Bobby Drake, more famously known as the X-Man Iceman, asked as he threw his former teammember and friend a cold – ice-cold – beer.“Why not, Bobby? It’s not like being a hero doesn’t have a price tag,” Warren Worthington, the high-flying Angel, replied as he opened the canister and took a sip.
“So you’re going to pay them?”“No. I’m going to support their families. The hero for hire bit has only ever worked for Luke Cage, hasn’t it? I just want to give some folks the chance to continue being a hero.”
“Like that White Tiger dude in Harlem?”“Exactly.”
“How’d you even find out about him? I thought all the good superheroes used secret identities?” Bobby said with a laugh.
In response, Warren just rolled his eyes. “He does. Of course, you understand I can’t tell you who, how or why.” It was Angel’s turn to smile at his friend.

“So how is it going?” Bobby finally asked.“I’ve got quite a few of the neighbourhood vigilantes set up with the Foundation. I want to work my way up the ladder.”
“Approach the Spidey’s and the Daredevils the last?”“Exactly.”
“Any chance of a Champions team coming up in New York?”

Times Square was a buzzing hub of urban life, a tumultuous sea of people rushing back and forth on their daily business. But their everyday routine was about to get rather jarringly interrupted.

All around them were giant billboards, flashing advertisements, and a couple of huge video screens playing commercials and news bulletins. Suddenly, the feed on one of these video screens was cut, giving way to static. A couple of people looked up, mildly curious, but few bothered to stop. But then a new feed cut in, which caught the attention of more observers.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR MILLIONS OF DOLLARS?

WOULD YOU KILL FOR IT?

WOULD YOU KILL A SUPERHERO?

People had begun to stop and stare up at the screen. The crowds rarely came to a standstill in this area of constant motion, so the very fact that some were doing it soon encouraged more to join them. Soon, a large crowd were all standing there, staring up.

WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE

WE CAN FIND YOU

WE CAN PAY YOU

HERE IS A LIST OF BOUNTIES

KILL THE HERO, COLLECT THE BOUNTY

Then the plain lettering gave way to a series of images. Photographs of a whole bunch of second-stringers and little known heroes, with a bounty of 1 million dollars attached to each. There was a commotion down below, arguments over whether this was a prank or legit.

There followed a series of photographs of X-Men, former X-Men, and various mutant do-gooders. 5 million apiece. Mutants still weren't very highly regarded by the general public, to say the least, and weren't worth too much in the grand scheme of things.

After that came photos of well known street-level crime fighters, among them the likes of Spider-Man, Daredevil and The Punisher, as well as various Avengers alumni from over the years. Each with a bounty of 10 million. By now, the commotion of mumbling had turned into excited chatter. At least a few of these normal, law-abiding citizens were thinking that it wouldn't be too hard to put a bullet in Daredevil's head as he walked along Hell's Kitchen.

And finally, the heavy-hitters. Captain America. The Hulk. Iron Man. Thor. Each member of the Fantastic Four. 50 million a head. This even provoked the odd gasp. Then the screen went black, and the lettering returned.

PLUS A $100,000 BONUS FOR FAMILY MEMBERS

THINK WE ARE LYING?

No one had noticed the remote-operated blimps flying overhead. What they did notice is that it had started raining 100 dollar bills.

WE HAVE THE MONEY

DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO GET IT?

Then the video screen cut back to static, and eventually the regularly-scheduled advertising. But few were paying attention anymore. A riot had broken out in Times Square, with all these supposedly honest, decent Americans fighting over the money all around them. Greedy people scrambling for easy money.

But one man wasn't scrambling on the floor. Bullseye had watched the announcement with silent interest, then made a smooth exit just as things were getting really ugly. On another day, he might have stuck around to have some fun. But today, the opportunity to make a whole lot of money had just been presented to him.

“Son!” the call suddenly came from the Drake household.
“Dad!?” Bobby Drake shouted in response as he ran back into his paternal home. He was quickly followed by his friend Warren Worthington.
“Dad, are you okay?” Bobby asked again as he burst into the living room and found both of his parents enraptured by the television. His mother had dropped the remote on the floor. In a state of almost shock, both mutants turned to the television and found themselves pictured along with a dozen other heroes. The reporter at Times Square was talking about a bounty, a bounty on each of their heads. The heads of friends… and family.

While Iceman shook with rage and started a tirade, the Angel crouched down to pick up the fallen remote. He immediately turned the television off. The second thing he did was take out his cell phone. Iceman was still cursing.

“Calm down, Bobby,” Warren said, and even Angel himself was a little surprised at his own calmness.
“How can I be War? That was us on there! A million dollars. That and more for some of our closest friends.”“I know, which is exactly why you need to start moving. Contact the others. Start getting your parents to a safe place. There’s a Worthington factory not a few miles from here. Produces toys. You can take them there. I need to make calls.”
“Calls!?” Bobby yelled, still in a fit of irrationality.“I’ve got about a dozen heroes’ families set up with the Foundation right now. Families, Bobby. I need to make sure they’re safe and that they stay safe. Now, get out your parents out of here. No telling what kind of crazies might be coming for this money, and they won’t care about who gets hurt.”

Warren turned his attention to his phone as Bobby seemed to calm down and focussed on his parents.

“Yes, Stacy?” Angel said as his secretary came on on the other end, “Did you see the news? I want this dealt with as fast and efficient as possible. Activate the safehouses and start calling in favours.”
…“Overreacting? I’ve been a known superhero since I was twenty. I’ve taken each and every death threat seriously since then.”
…“Money can be refunded, Stacy. Lives can’t.”
…“Good. Very good.”
…“They’ve found him? Excellent, tell them not to lose him again.”

Warren shut his cell phone. Bobby looked to him. His parents were already in the hall with their luggage.

The Vision and the boy who would grow up to become Kang the Conqueror walked through the streets of New York. The robotic hero was in his new body, and was gradually making sure that all the major systems were working. He'd decided to do this by taking the young boy and showing him New York at the current time.

Nathaniel's suit had been constantly changing to match his current thought pattern. Each outfit seemed to be more ridiculous than the last. The Spiderman costume contained green trim. The Vision winced; the original Spidey could sue for knock off imitations.

"What about-" Nathaniel started to ask, but was cut off by the cold, robotic hand clamping over his mouth.

Out of the shadows stepped a man, large with the build of a trucker and a big beard, who was carrying a long shotgun in his hand. The Vision moved so that he was standing in front of the boy.

"Well it looks to me like I got me a $10 million cash prize," he said, lifting the shotgun up to point at the duo "and Iron Lad there is probably worth $100,000 just for association,"

The Vision didn't completely comprehend what the man was talking about, but the gun gesturing and talking in a drunken slur got the message across. Before the man could pull the trigger, he had moved forwards with his old speed and landed a heavy punch across his jaw. The man went flying into the wall. Vision bent the barrell of the gun around in a perfect circle, before dropping it down at his feet.

"Wow..." Nathaniel said.

"What about Iron Lad?" he asked. Vision shrugged.

"It'll do until we can think of something better," the android muttered, before walking off into the New York streets, his young friend by his side.

"Wow. I beat gym was your favorite class in school. You know, besides the ever popular Dumb Muscle 101."

I web up Tombstone's feet and pull.

WHAM!

He falls to the floor and shakes the school.

"Wow. You fell like a ton of bricks! Well, actually you are a ton of bricks! Except maybe a ton of bricks is a wee bit smarter than you."

I flip back on the wall and get ready for Tombstone's neck strike.

"You seem to be forgetting I'm not your every day super villain, webslinger." Tombstone replied, letting Spider-man's quips get to him more than he meant. "I got the braun and I got the smarts when I need it." He raised his feet into the air. "You want proof? Here's yer proof!" Both feet still binded together, Tombstone brought them crashing through the wall Spider-man was perched on.

A clean swipe made sure that the entire wall feel down, the arachnid with it. "Cocky little runt, I framed Joe Robertson, and you put in me leagues with some guy like the Rhino?" Tombstone ripped the webbing apart one more and got to his feet, turning to face the pile of rubble Spider-man was under.

Sausage and Bacon with a side of sausage and bacon. Breakfast of champions.

I'm only just digging in when the diner's TV feed goes from morning Sports talk to some kind of public service announcement.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR MILLIONS OF DOLLARS?

WOULD YOU KILL FOR IT?

WOULD YOU KILL A SUPERHERO?

Heh, this is rich.

I'm already digging into my food and turnin away from the TV

WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE

WE CAN FIND YOU

WE CAN PAY YOU

HERE IS A LIST OF BOUNTIES

KILL THE HERO, COLLECT THE BOUNTY

Then the plain lettering gave way to a series of images. Photographs of a whole bunch of second-stringers and little known heroes, with a bounty of 1 million dollars attached to each.

There followed a series of photographs of X-Men, former X-Men, and various mutant do-gooders. 5 million apiece.

After that came photos of well known street-level crime fighters, among them the likes of Spider-Man, Daredevil and The Punisher, as well as various Avengers alumni from over the years. Each with a bounty of 10 million.

And finally, the heavy-hitters. Captain America. The Hulk. Iron Man. Thor. Each member of the Fantastic Four. 50 million a head.

PLUS A $100,000 BONUS FOR FAMILY MEMBERS

THINK WE ARE LYING?

WE HAVE THE MONEY

DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO GET IT?

Yeah, yeah. I said I wasn't paying attention anymore but this here could be just what I've been looking for.

Should be easy enough to make some quick cash, should be alot of fun too.

I sniff the air. I can always find that runt when I put my mind to it.

It was not often that Magneto found himself speechless. But this was most definitely one of the more...curious...things he had seen.

"-literally rained money, sending bystanders into a frenzy. No individual nor organization has claimed --" a female reported graced the television screen, interviewing various people who had been present at Times Square when the mysterious message had been delivered, while most others ignored her in favor of the thousands of dollars littering the street.

Multi-million dollar bounties had been offered up on various heroes. Seeing the faces of Captain America, Spider-Man and the other imbeciles with a number attached to them didn't bother Lensherr in the least. In fact, he had toyed with the idea of killing them himself, for free. But the moment he saw the faces of the young X-Men....a primal anger took hold of him.

"This will not go unpunished."

-----

"Alright, we have all we need. Let's get out of here before these people start eating each other alive." the young reporter called to her cameraman, a stocky man visibly bored with his job, who nodded and let the massive camera lower to his side. She was, by all means, an attractive woman. Dressed in a gray pantsuit, her hair flowed down to the middle of her back. Yet something seemed off about her, even to her cameraman. Walking towards the news van, the woman looked back at the group of crazed New Yorkers, reduced to animalistic cavemen. With a sneer, she felt a surge of disgust course through her body.

"One almost feels sorry for them." a deep, kind voice called to the young woman.

She knew who it was long before she turned around to see him. A white haired man dressed impeccably in a snow white suit, an air of majesty surrounding him, he smiled as if the two were old friends. When their eyes met, there was a hint of recognization on her face that she forced back.

"Ye...I'm sorry. Do we know each other?" she asked nervously, visibly shaken.

"You don't think I'd recognize you? You hurt my feelings, my dear." he chuckled slightly. "We have no time to waste. We must work fast if we're to prevent the extinction of our kind..."

A clean swipe made sure that the entire wall feel down, the arachnid with it. "Cocky little runt, I framed Joe Robertson, and you put in me leagues with some guy like the Rhino?" Tombstone ripped the webbing apart one more and got to his feet, turning to face the pile of rubble Spider-man was under.

"Ouch....I think I need to go to see the school nurse..."

I feel Tombstone's rough hands wrap around me and start to squeeze.

"Tombstone...don't I got- I got something to say." I whisper as the breath leaves my body.

He leans in close to listen in.

THWIP!

I cover his head in webbing and squirm out of his death grip as he starts to pull it off.

"So any way, Tomby. You don't mind if I call you Tomby? So, Tomby. Tell me, if you're so smart then how come you're still getting your ass handed to by guys like me?!"

I use my webbing to grab two chairs from a nearby glass and throw them at Tombstone.

"Here, have a seat! Matter of fact, have two!"

__________________

"These are the times that try men's souls... Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph."

-- Thomas Paine

"People never lie so much as after a hunt, during a war or before an election."
-- Otto von Bismarck

Ah, the weekly shop. It is the sign of a man making his own way in the world at last, a show of independance and self reliance. That... and I get to run around with a shopping cart for an hour or two. "Weee! Outta the way, I'm an X-Jet!" I squeal with delight as the jump into the cart and rocket down the isle, Security high tailing it after me. "S'cusemecomingthroughhopeyou'rehavinganiceshopbes uretocheckoutthepromotionsonwinterwearisle5!"

I near the end of the isle, where a big security man awaits, I call him Jeff, and he is the evil store lingerer that always stops my fun, but not today! "Curses! A road block! Evasive action!" I attempt to push the side and spin the cart, only for Jeff to stick his plump foot under a wheel, wedge it firmly, and send me flying into a stack of tinned beans.

A few seconds after the mini-avalanche, I emerge, holding a can. "Thanks Jeff! the good cans are always stored at the back! Now if you'll excuse me I'll just gather my purcahse-ables, and be on my way. After the exchanging of money of course."

"You know the place you're going pal. And it ain't to the checkout."

"...oh yeah you're right! I forgot Nachos! Thanks for reminding me buddy! Which isle are they again?" Jeff places a big, greasy hand on me and lifts me into the air. I take a few swings at his face, missing hopelessly. "Let me at 'im! Yeah, let me at 'im! Come on you big ol' doofus, you don't scare Deadpool-doo!"

Jeff begins to carry me towards the exit. "Come on Jeff, can't we be reasonable here? I mean I have a loyalty card here and this is how you repay me! Mutiny I tells ya! You shall be charged on highest treason! You are not worthy of my loyalty!" The automatic doors fling open and I exit the store, via a kicking to the rump from Jeff.

"And for once, stay out!" the doors slam shut.

"Yeah, well I don't need your products! I'll just go where I always go! This business will cripple without my hard earned cash!" I turn, head across the street and look at my new shopping destination, a good ol' 99 cents store. A confident swagger to my step, I approach the automatic door, only to walk flat into them.

Face still peeled against the glass, I muffle "Gotta remember that they can't afford to fix the doors here." It takes a crowbar from the shop owner to peel the door open as I peel myself off of it. "Any chance you've got those shopping carts yet?"

"Nope, still just good ol' baskets."

"*Sigh* its just not the same". A few moments later I stand with my shopping, about 30 bags of nachos, a few rotten apples, and some off milk. The radio has a news report in the background. Something about a message in Times Square...

Quote:

Originally Posted by Keyser Soze

"Once again we repeat the messages on the screens of Times Square

WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR MILLIONS OF DOLLARS?

WOULD YOU KILL FOR IT?

WOULD YOU KILL A SUPERHERO?

WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE

WE CAN FIND YOU

WE CAN PAY YOU

HERE IS A LIST OF BOUNTIES

KILL THE HERO, COLLECT THE BOUNTY

PLUS A $100,000 BONUS FOR FAMILY MEMBERS

THINK WE ARE LYING?

WE HAVE THE MONEY

DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO GET IT?

Viewers are advised not to seek out these super heroes in hope of collecting on these bounties...

"$34.78" the shop owners depressed tone brings me back into reality.

"What? Oh uh money, yeah gimmie a sec." I reach for my wallet. "Okay lemme see here, old condom, picture of someone's dog, picture of someone's kid, picture of someone's wife (starting to realise this isn't my wallet)." No money. God I really need to get a day job. "Uh... I... do not... sprechen... ze... English."
"But you've been speaking in Eng--"

"I, am visitor here..."

"Look if you want this stuff you gotta pay me $34.78."

"34.78 dollars? What is dollars?"

"Look Deadpool I'm not buying it. You've been coming here after getting kicked out of mega mart for last 3 months and for once you're actually gonna pay me."
"Alright... I can think of a way to pay you. That mega mart over there, gotta be pretty harsh on business. I mean your door doesn't even work dude."

"But its after hours! No innocents, just Jeff and his minions of doom!"

"No way."

"Well then I'll set the fire alarm off." which isn't a lie... seeing as the fire alarm will go off once I've blown the place to kingdom come.

"...fine but this better not fall back on me."

"Mr, you got yourself a deal!"

***

"Take that Jeff. And let it always be known that I, Deadpool will always have the last word!" I scream, dancing round the fire that once was the mega mart. "Haha, Deadpool - 327, established global shopping brands - 0.Talk about win-win!" I stuff another Nacho into my mouth. "Damn... forgot cheese." no wait, that scorched body over there, she's holding some! And its slighty melted due to the fire! Someone up there does love me! Pocketing the slimey cheese (which I instantly realise was a mistake), I step back over the pile of corpses, and salute the store owner across the road, who I can see weeping into his hands.

"Now then... judging by the emptiness of some guy I murdered's wallet, I needs me some cold hard cash. And I know juuuuuuust how to get it."

***

About an hour later my genius plan is in motion. I say genius plan, I mean I'm sitting on top of a tree in Central Park firing a gun into the air. "Oh heroes? Come out, come out whereever you are! Spider-man? No wait, bit out of my league... Daredevil? Hmm... still no. Wolverine? Yeah, definately Wolverine. If you wanna show up I'll happy kick your ass and get the $5 mil I've deserved since the day I was born."

"STOP RIGHT THERE, EVIL DO'ER!"

"Oh god in heaven." Anyone but him. I mean of all the people why him? That just won't be possible!

Nathan Summers didn't believe in luck or fate. His entire existence was based around being able to alter the future but now, as he was chased through stinking alleyways he had to think...

"Someone up there has it in for me." Nathan sighed looking to the heavens.

The city of New York was an absoloute mess, hundered dollar bills littered the ground as greedy citizens scrambled to get their share knocking each other sideways to do so. First it was a couple of fights over the money then it escalated into an all out riot. The mutant known as Cable just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Ain't he one of em!?" He heard a cry coming from a small mob that had congregated at the entrance to the alley he just happened to be resting in. He gritted his teeth and set off running again, his feet disturbing the filthy puddles that pooled in the cracks of the uneven concrete beneath him.

Nathan had been running all his life it had become second nature ny now, dodging disgarded items, stray cats, jumping fences, climbing fire escapes, it was all muscle memory he didn't have to think.
"This is insane, some nutcase offers them money and they jump on the first person wearing a costume."

A bullet whizzed harmlessly past his ear.
"And now some of them have firearms... Perfect." He said jumping from the roof of a parked car onto a set of metal stairs. "I'm gonna go ahead and tempt fate." He said clearing his throat.

"Could this day get any worse...? There I said it, do your worst 'fate'."

"Tombstone...don't I got- I got something to say." I whisper as the breath leaves my body.

He leans in close to listen in.

THWIP!

I cover his head in webbing and squirm out of his death grip as he starts to pull it off.

"So any way, Tomby. You don't mind if I call you Tomby? So, Tomby. Tell me, if you're so smart then how come you're still getting your ass handed to by guys like me?!"

I use my webbing to grab two chairs from a nearby glass and throw them at Tombstone.

"Here, have a seat! Matter of fact, have two!"

Tombstone winced as the two chairs flew, crashing into his stomach and breaking on impact. He was still trying to get the blasted webbing off of his face however, as Spider-man had put on a thicket layer of webbing this time. "Mmmph, mmph!" was all he could muster at the webslinger's latest joke.

He took a hand away from the webbing and started swinging it about aimlessly while the other tried to peel the mess from his face. He felt it connect with a head, but judging by the high pitched squeal and the force at which it had flown away on impact, it wasn't Spider-man, rather a girl. Still, that was pretty damn funny.

Finally freeing himself of the webbing, he raised a big, toothy grin on his face. "Ain't you got a little variety in you? Does it always have to be with the webbing." he picked up a leg of the broken chair, and lunged at Spider-man with it.